Chapter 16
Let's look back over my experiences from the past.
In all my years of listening to K-pop, had I ever seen a song built around a cheerleading or cheer-song theme? Racking my memory, only one or two songs came vaguely to mind.
Even those were mostly either very old examples or album tracks buried in a corner of an album, so obscure they didn't even have music videos.
Why had agencies always ignored such an appealing subject as cheerleaders—something popular that could also appeal strongly to male fans?
“Because it looks too cheap.”
More precisely, because it draws strong backlash from female consumers.
Come to think of it, it wasn't exactly a concept men were all that fond of, either.
Cheerleading itself might be a popular profession, but the moment you bring it in as an idol concept, the story changes.
With even a single nurse-uniform cosplay sparking controversy, the backlash from putting such an overt concept as cheerleaders front and center would be more than anyone could handle.
That's why, as time went on, idols began abandoning sexy concepts.
Songs designed to appeal to men became increasingly likely to be shunned by women—and even more so by men.
But I wasn't an idol.
No one would point fingers at a nine-year-old elementary schoolgirl for putting on a cheerleader outfit and building a stage around a cheer-song concept.
If anything, anyone who tried to apply some bizarre standard to a child like that would obviously be hit with a backlash of, “What the hell are you thinking, looking at a little girl that way?”
“Actually, this is something I can only do at my current age.”
Even if I went on to work as an adult singer someday, I would never sing a cheer-song-style track.
It was an event concept suited to one-off use on an audition stage like this, but far too passé to push as an entire official album.
More than anything, the decisive reason was that a song perfectly suited to this concept was sleeping on the hard drive of my past life.
A song I had recorded that failed to see the light of day in Korea and only found success after crossing over to Japan.
Its chart performance had already proven its worth, so worrying about its quality would have been a luxury.
“And even more so when I consider my opponent.”
It might sound cruel to say this about Im Ji-hye, but she wasn't the type who could win on looks.
If I arranged a fresh, cute stage to contrast with her—someone who had to stake everything on her singing ability alone—stealing the judges' hearts would be a piece of cake.
In auditions of this sort, the outcome is never decided by singing ability alone.
In fact, the type the industry avoids most is someone who can only sing well. People like that generally lack both marketability and the appeal to draw in the public.
A stage that could snatch away viewers' and the public's attention in one stroke.
That was the fastest shortcut to the top.
Honestly, a nine-year-old S-tier beauty from the area serving up a cheerleading routine? It was a cheat code that would disarm everyone, regardless of age or gender.
Even so, it felt a little lacking as something to use for a Top 10 stage.
From that point on, I'd be able to spend serious money on the stage, using backup dancers and other instruments as well.
From then on, the appeal of a genre that required me to put on a one-person shitshow would plummet.
“Let's go with this.”
The direction was set. I didn't need complicated choreography, either.
Simply throwing my fists energetically while singing would be choreography enough.
To begin with, I had neither the physical ability to perform high-difficulty dances nor the talent to create choreography.
I started digging through cheerleader videos for inspiration. Most of them were so-called fancams, and the outfits were more revealing than I'd expected.
Among them, I managed to find choreography that was reasonably easy and cute.
In fact, most of them consisted of blatant sexy dances, so finding one that suited me was quite a struggle.
“I'll use this general feeling as a reference for the choreography... The problem is the clothes.”
Actually, I had already earmarked an item for the stage outfit: a uniform makeover.
Neulneul Orphanage was one of the largest in Incheon, so it had a wide variety of sponsoring organizations.
A professional baseball team was among them, and they donated things like uniforms and gloves every year.
The storage room was piled high with mountains of things that were out of fashion or too worn out to use anymore.
After asking one of the orphanage teachers for permission, I began rummaging through every corner of the storage room. At last, I found what I was looking for.
“Wow... It's still here.”
The blue uniform of Incheon's baseball team, used in the distant past and now visible only in low-resolution memes or faded videos, had been tucked away in people's memories—but now it appeared in my hands.
* * *
“Someone who's good with clothes? There's one among those middle school kids on the dance team.”
“Could you introduce me?”
Within the community of an orphanage, there was a truly diverse cast of people.
Some would stake their lives on studying, others clung to their game consoles all night, and of course, there were kids who had joined the dance club and devoted their lives to dancing. (Naturally, there were plenty of delinquents living rock-bottom lives, too.)
In particular, for middle- and high-school dance-club members, the ability to alter costumes was not optional; it was essential.
The more seriously they dreamed of going pro, the more their skills developed, to an almost crafty degree.
The reason was simple. They couldn't afford to buy clothes, and among ready-made outfits, it was hard to find anything that faithfully recreated the subtle stage feel they wanted.
So they acquired cheap clothes, ripped them apart, cut them up, and stitched them together into remade outfits of their own.
If my memory served, there was a middle-schooler at our orphanage who belonged to a dance team and was working toward becoming a professional dancer.
She was apparently quite talented and had a promising future, living one of the more earnest and respectable lives among the children at the orphanage.
My memory proved accurate, and I was introduced to her without much trouble.
The only problem was that she spent so much time outside practicing that we could barely sit down together until evening, when the sun was already sinking.
“Huh, you...?”
“Hello.”
With her flashy makeup and yellow-dyed hair, she looked at first glance like a stereotypical delinquent, but I knew she wasn't one. She was one of the orphanage's relatively few kids who was actually living a respectable life.
In fact, in this neighborhood, judging someone's character by whether they dyed their hair or smoked was meaningless. Dyed hair was practically the least of it.
‘But why is she acting like that?’
When I tilted my head, she blushed and let out a shrill shout without being able to meet my eyes.
“Th-the person beside you... Who are they?!”
“They're filming me. They said they wanted to film me.”
“Ah, please don't mind me. Just carry on as though I'm not here.”
Despite the production crew member's polite reply, Seo Ina remained restless in her seat.
Apparently, as an ordinary person, the very presence of a television camera felt like enormous pressure to her.
‘Wait, but if she's good enough to be an idol's backup dancer and even appear on music shows, why is she trembling over something like this?’
I couldn't quite understand being fine with stage lights yet terrified of a single lens, but in any case, I calmly explained my plan to her.
As soon as the subject turned to the stage, the awkwardness vanished from Ina's eyes, replaced by seriousness.
“Remaking a uniform? That's nothing. If you ask, I'm sure the older girls on my team will roll up their sleeves and help!”
“Is it really that serious?”
At my offhand question, she slammed the table and sprang to her feet.
“Of course! These days, whenever I go to a music-show waiting room, I brag that you're from the same orphanage as me!”
“Huh?”
“Hehe, even the idols are going crazy over how cute you are.”
That was a little unexpected. To be honest, I hadn't been able to feel just how popular I was.
More people had started recognizing me on the street, and my videos were racking up high view counts, but that still hadn't translated into any certainty that I was some hugely famous celebrity.
Popularity gained through an audition program often vanished in an instant, like a midsummer night's dream.
‘Maybe I should make a YouTube account later just to check.’
If I started an SNS such as Instagram, I could see the numbers immediately, but for now I wanted to focus entirely on the Singerstar stage rather than outside activities.
Because the road to victory had finally begun to come clearly into view.
My current odds of winning were 2.2. Joo Jin-woo's odds had drifted out to 2.5 in the wake of the previous round, which meant I had finally taken the top spot in the betting.
They say there's nothing in the world more honest than money. The fact that cold-blooded gamblers were betting on me to win meant my chances of victory had been objectively validated.
Even though I told myself it was nothing special, I couldn't deny that it gave me a strange bit of encouragement.
“Let's say the uniform takes care of the top... What are you going to do for the bottom?”
“I was thinking of wearing short denim shorts underneath for a no-pants look.”
“Huh? Rather than that, definitely...”
“Definitely?”
“You have to wear a skirt! You'd be unbelievably cute in a tennis skirt!”
At that suggestion, I furrowed my brow as deeply as I could and answered firmly.
“Absolutely not.”
After trying one on and performing onstage in it last time, I had made up my mind.
That skirts were something I needed to keep as far away from as possible for the sake of my soul's well-being.